


The Green Wizard

by Ponaco



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7885084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponaco/pseuds/Ponaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deep in the woods under a canopy of ancient trees lived the Green Wizard. An Apritello/TMNT fantasy AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Part One

The green wizard’s cabin sat far from the village. An ancient structure built deep within the woods with only the trees to bear witness to its daily existence. No one knows who placed it there all those years ago. Some say the wizard was its original owner, laying the bricks and timber beams with magic. Others claim the cabin built itself, growing up from the forest floor back when the ground moved like waves upon an ocean and trees wandering on limbs as tall as oaks. Neither explanation rang true to her ears. She was certain there must be a far more mundane story lurking behind the rumors. No one could live forever, not even wizards, and trees did not uproot and cross the land at their leisure. 

The rumors concerning the wizard’s cabin were tame in comparison to what was whispered of the wizard himself. There were those who spoke of him in hushed reverence; spinning tales of a benevolent spirit of the woods who protected the village against harm. There were others however who called him demon and insisted he did more harm than good. No matter where the villagers settled on an opinion of the wizard they all held fear in their hushed words and furtive glances towards the trees on the horizon.

Even as a child she proclaimed disbelief in the tales of the green wizard. She would wave them off as myth and exaggerations of small truths. She would not admit fear. Her stubbornness carried this trait along into adulthood and was the sole reason she now found herself traipsing through the woods in search of the green wizard. Scribbled on a soft piece of deer hide, her map did little more than point in a general direction with very few markers to guide her through the trees. 

She left the village shortly after the break of dawn. The air was crisp and cold with the gentle breeze of a late autumn day; mercifully free of clouds. Once beneath the cover of the trees the breeze died out, creaking through the branches overhead. Fear was something she denied for years on end, denied it up until the very moment the village chose her to search out the wizard. She denied it even to herself when she stepped into the trees, but that steely resolve, that brash stubbornness, chipped away with each move forward. When the squat, round cabin came into view fear drummed unavoidable in her ears and deep within her chest. 

She wouldn’t let that stop her. The green wizard was just a man; a rumored grotesque and unearthly man, but a man none the less. Never in the past had she let a man frighten her and she was determined not to let it happen now. Holding her head high she walked down the stone-paved path towards the cabin’s front door. It was taller than she expected, made of heavy oak and clunky metal hinges. Waves and other sea creatures encircled one another on the carved surface while the door knob was cast in the shape of a turtle.

She took a deep breath and pounded her fist on the wooden surface. The dull sound echoed throughout the quiet woods, fading away unanswered. She frowned and knocked out a more urgent rhythm on the door, pressing her ear to the surface to listen for any sign of movement inside. A small window to the right of the door only affirmed her assumption that the cabin was empty. With a huff she gazed around the surrounding gardens with her hand on her hip. Every available space was full of herbs and seasonable vegetables. A rutting and snorting pig moved about in the small pen along the eastern side of the house; her piglets squealing in protest as she moved out of range for them to nurse.

“Where are you?” she murmured, casting a wary eye towards the sky.

The sun sat beneath the height of day, already starting its decent towards the horizon. She did not want to remain in the woods after sundown. She could not wait for him to return. She would have to find him. The clearing that made up his cabin and surrounding gardens was flanked on all sides by trees. She circled the tree-line, looking for any sign of a commonly used path. After a second circumvention with no obvious path to take, worry started to squirm and wriggle in her belly. She had to find him. She could not return to the village without the potion she was sent to retrieve. She could not let the village down. She could not fail.

“In Banbridge town in the county Down one morning last July,from a boreen green came a sweet colleen and smiled as she passed me by.”  
The sudden lilting voice made her jump in surprise, her hand raised instantly to her heart to feel the steady rhythm beneath her breast. The wind carried the song to her ears, a sweet and steady tenor that brought a smile to her face and enticed her to hear more. Her feet moved of their own accord through the trees, following the warm voice until she saw its maker atop a break in the trees.

“She looked so sweet from her two bare feet, to the sheen of her nut brown hair. Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself for to see I was really there.”

He sang on, oblivious or uninterested in his sudden audience. His voice settled warm and comforting in her chest, somehow new and familiar in the same space. The words fluttered out to the valley below and she wondered if she had indeed heard them before. Perhaps on some cold, clear day alone in the pasture with nothing but her family’s cattle and the lilt of a far off song from deep within the woods. She understood now why they called him wizard, for his song was something born of magic.

A finely woven basket sat beside him on the ground, near to overflowing with mushrooms and other plants harvested from the forest floor. The sight of him should have brought fear rushing back. He was as monstrous as the stories told. His skin the color of spring leaves with a bold head and large, three-fingered hands. His face curved forward into a rounded beak with little more than slits for both ears and nose. The large shell attached to his back dipped and grooved in the delicate patterns of river turtles with splashes of color when it caught the sun. She should have been afraid. Fear did not come however; it never reared its ugly head. She had no use for fear, she only wanted to hear him sing.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2:

“You know, I have heard it is impolite to stare.”

She meant to turn away when he stopped singing, perhaps run back to the cabin to wait for him. Her feet had not obeyed. Her belief in magic was fragile at best and yet she found herself transfixed by him, as though his voice alone tethered her to that spot, unable to move even as the more logical part of her mind screamed at her to run. She could not bring herself to reply. The sudden inability to voice her opinion so foreign to her she felt anger start to rumble in her chest at the impertinence of it all.

“You’ve come from the village,” he said, not making it a question.

Standing to his full height he turned to face her. She could not pull her gaze away. A persistent whisper at the back of her thoughts insisted that she should be afraid, insisted she should run. She did neither. The wind rustled through the trees and loosened a few strands of her hair from the tie at the nape of her neck. She did not reach to push the hair from her face. Instead she stood still as stone and stared.

“What do you want?” he asked, shifting his basket to his left hand as he leaned on a tall walking stick with the right.

“What?” she murmured in reply, forcing the tiny word into the light of day.

“Villagers only come here when they want something,” he replied. “So, what is it you want?”

Sadness clouded his eyes like the flutter of crows wings; dark and ominous on a sea of amber. She didn’t know what she expected. Those in the village spoke of him in hushed voices. They called him the green wizard with reverence and awe while in the same breath they whispered monster. For all her posturing and false bravery deep down she believed the whispers. Now, in the cool air, with his song still ringing in her ears and the undeniable hurt in his eyes the word monster left her thoughts entirely, for never had she seen any so far from monstrous in all her life.

“There’s a sickness,” she said, finding that each word came easier than the one before it. “A fever.”

The sadness was gone, a fleeting memory pushed aside by a stronger, steel-sharpened determination. “Right then,” he replied with a nod.  
He breezed past her, leaning heavily on his walking stick with uneven, yet precise steps. The sun caught the grooves and textures of his shell before tracing its glittering fingertips across his skin. It wasn’t a single shade of green as she thought, but freckled with different hues and subtle browns like viewing leaves on the bed of a river stream. She found herself transfixed once more. He paused, not looking back at her although the tightened stance of his shoulders was enough for her to know he could feel her unwavering stare.

“Come on,” he said, moving forward without waiting for an answer.

She struggled to keep pace with his long strides. He moved with the grace and ease of someone who walked this path often. The cottage door swung open with barely a touch of his hand. A great squeal should have sounded from the hinges, followed by the reveal of a home glittering with magic. She assumed a wizard should live somewhere grand or surrounded by mystical tools of trade full of the same mystery and wonder that shrouded the wizard himself. The cottage was none of these things. A slight twinge of disappointment burned in her chest at the overly mundane home before her.

Books took up a great deal of the available space, stacked in no discernable order in piles on the floor and crammed into overflowing shelves. Plants of every shape and color hung from the beams to dry. Jars full of the unrecognizable sat alongside pickles, tomatoes, and strawberry jams covered with checkered cloth. A fire sputtered down to red-hot coals in the hearth where a cast-iron pot bubble with a fragrant stew that set her stomach rumbling. She lingered beside the hearth, watching him move along the length of a sturdy wooden bench, gathering ingredients to grind with mortar and pestle. 

“How many have fallen ill?” he asked, reaching up to snag a bundle of herbs from above his head.

“Ten,” she replied, quickly stepping aside as he moved to take one of the jars from the shelf beside her. “The longest for close to five days now.”

He nodded and mashed a few more ingredients together before carefully placing them in a jar all their own. “Is there a rash with the fever?” 

“Yes,” she replied, taking a step back as he pushed a basket into her hands.

“Put the green one on the rash,” he explained, tapping the top of the jar with one, large finger. “The white powder should be mixed with food and drink. It’s quite bitter so don’t give it to them on its own. It should help bring the fever down and lessen some of the pain. If these don’t work come back and I’ll mix you something stronger.”

He turned back to his bench, already cleaning up the mess he made. She stood grasping the basket in a state of growing confusion.

“That…that’s all?” she murmured, the jars clinking as she shifting the basket to her other hand. “I mean…you don’t have to do anything else?”

The closeness of him drew a sharp breath into her body as he held his hands over the basket. He rolled his shoulders and wiggled his fingers, never breaking her gaze. He smelled of the crisp autumn wind through the trees, his skin cool against her own as their fingers grazed one another. He took in a slow breath and she braced herself for the magical incantation she expected to hear tumble passed his lips.

“Boop.”

The nonsense word caught her by surprise only compounded when he bobbed his finger on the tip of her nose. A smile grew across his face at the look of utter confusion on hers; a small gap between his teeth giving him a child-like demeanor that stood in sharp contrast to the stories and legends that preceded him. 

“If you were expecting magic and sparks and incantations I’m sorry to disappoint,” he said with a quiet chuckle.

The closeness was gone and the cool touch of his skin a near memory. She let out a breath and felt a burn of embarrassment travel across his cheeks. The stories were just that; stories. The whispers and rumors of a monster had been proven wrong and now she found yet another falsity among the tales.

“You’re not a wizard,” she said quietly.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he replied with a smile that held a twinge of apology. “I don’t think there are wizards, but people tend to shout magic at anything they don’t understand,” he motioned towards the door. “You better get going if you want to get home before the sun goes down.”

“Yes,” she agreed, hoisting the basket into her arms. “And thank you for this.”

Another smile skittered across his face, smaller and more fleeting with sad eyes casting a shadow over the expression.

“You’re quite welcome.” 

“April,” she said, holding her head high and offering a smile of her own. “My name is April.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, April,” he replied. “You can call me Donatello…if you’d like.”

She felt as though he trusted her with some grand secret. No one in the village ever spoke of him by name. Perhaps they thought of him nameless. Now she knew better. Now she knew the truth. He was not a wizard, nor a monster, but that made him something else entirely; something wonderful and she was eager to find what other secrets he held.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

The path to his cabin seemed shorter now that excitement replaced fear and trepidation in her heart. Birds sang out, far too cheerful for most at such an early hour of the day. She did not mind their song. If she knew the tune she would have whistled along with them. As it was the lilting sound gave a bounce to her step and stretched a smile across her face. She heaved her basket onto her shoulder and started the final incline up towards his cabin. Her heart pounded a staccato rhythm in her chest from the exertion of her quick journey and from something else entirely that set her thoughts fluttering and burned color onto her pale cheeks. 

Smoke curled in twisted, wispy tendrils from the cobbled chimney towards an overcast autumn sky. She knew he would be awake, even though dawn just spilled over the horizon. Sleep was not something he wasted much time on. Pale acorn squash sat amongst the vines of bright-orange pumpkins in the garden on either side of the stone path. She stood before the front door, taking in a breath in hopes of slowing the rapid beating of her heart. Shifting the basket to her left hand she knocked a quiet pattern on the worn wood of the door. She took a small step back at the shuffling sound of his approach. A smile blossomed new and genuine when her gaze fell upon him across the threshold.

“April,” he said, flashing a smile of his own. “I did not expect you this morning,” the initial glimmer of happiness faltered with a nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth and a worried crinkle of his forehead. “Is everything all right?”

Something inside her broke at the realization that he was accustomed to visitors who only appeared when all other options were exhausted. She lifted the basket and fought to find her smile once more. He blinked, confusion shinning in tired, brown eyes. He always helped when those desperate people came calling. When nothing else worked they would trudge through the woods with their tails between their legs to demand a cure from the Green Wizard and he would give them one; even as they ran back to the village with cries of monster or demon on their lips. He would help them just the same. 

“I brought breakfast,” she said, faltering when he remained silent. “That is, if you haven’t eaten already. I just thought, well, you said you enjoyed honey cakes and…”

She waved her hand at the increased blush of heat across her cheeks. The worry on his face melted into something close to awe before it stretched into a proper grin; the gap in his teeth quite prominent in the bright morning sun. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest and he stepped aside to allow her entrance into the cabin, sweeping his arm out with a slight bow as she walked by.

“Oh! Yes, that’s…thank you…I mean, no, I haven’t eaten. That’s…that’s incredibly kind of you,” he stammered, closing the door behind her once she was properly inside.

“Well, it is the least I can do after you saved my father’s cows,’ she replied.

He scurried over to clear a space on the table before taking the basket from her arms. The cabin was warm and welcoming with a faint scent of spice and herbs. She stood beside the hearth, holding her hands out towards the dancing flames to chase away the stubborn chill of the morning. She did not hear him approach, always so silent despite his size. She startled as he draped a quilt around her shoulders. She took hold of his hand before he could pull away. The words she planned left her when their eyes met; glints of fiery green and soulful hues of brown.

“It…it is incredibly kind of you,” he said again, the words made cumbersome by years of loneliness and the expectation of so much less.

Her hand tightened on his, the difference in size and shape no more than an afterthought, a fleeting, common thing that mattered so little in the sight of his gaze upon her. She heard the stories, the whispers of monster and magic, but even before she knew the truth she thought them false. Why would a monster help the village? The Green Wizard ended plagues and cured blighted crops. Monsters were the cause of such things, not the cure. He was their savoir and yet here he stood, eternally grateful for something so trivial as a shared meal.

“I only wish I could do more,” April said in a hushed voice, standing on her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss upon his lips. “Donatello.”


End file.
